


It's You Who Hung The Moon

by Spencer_Grey



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: FAHC, Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-07-12 14:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15996851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer_Grey/pseuds/Spencer_Grey
Summary: Alfredo's introduction to the Fakes starts with a failed assassination attempt.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a particular haze that has weaved its way into the very concrete that forms the rough streets, to the glass that stands over watching the insignificant ants scuttling about. The entrancing lights of the repeating buildings pull the needy, lonely and lavish into a state of constant daydream; a place where nothing means anything and a footstep is consequential. 

Life has a twisted meaning within the borders of Los Santos. The sun beams down upon the city yet it is shrouded in sentient shadows and no named people. The very scent of the city can twist innocent minds into lethal beasts, snarling and laughing. 

Crime is rampant, while the bystanders prefer to turn a blind eye to save their own skins. 

How does that make them better? 

Blood has leaked down from the heavens and stains the sidewalks, the encompassing mountains and every grain of sand that sits just before the lapping waves; and it is ignored.

Questioning the fabric of Los Santos’ reality will only lead to the unravelling of a city built upon graves and refusal to acknowledge unspeakable crimes that should remain as silent sin. Only whispers of the act the Gods above have witnessed make it further than closed doors and bribed corruption. 

Amorality overtook as the trend of the century, and apathy snaked in closeby; together the pair destroyed a generation with hopes and faith and turned them into nightmares and unrecognizable reflections. 

To the ones with fresh blood, that has yet to find its way onto a back alley in the dead of night, Los Santos is a miracle. A place to start again and wash away the regrets and mistakes that slyly follow you. It’s somewhere to settle down, start a family and live the life destined for the normal. 

No one smiles at the passing sign that says “WELCOME TO LOS SANTOS” and thinks they’ll end up running past faded posters plastered against brick walls down a trashed and forgotten street. No one would believe the blood pooling from their side, their hand being steady as they pushed against the wound and their other kept a tight grip on their silver handgun. No one would imagine that the man keeping them stable and upright would be someone they planned to assassinate the night previous. 

But Alfredo Diaz has never had a normal life.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t a bad thing that Trevor had finally gotten comfortable around the crew. He wasn’t so tense that you could visibly see him hold his whole body at a nervous angle, and he wasn’t a ton of bricks when anyone hugged him; in fact now he’d completely melt into it after being touch starved for so long. There were no complaints from about area. 

When Trevor was an awkward newbie, he was punctual. He showed up to every heist a hour ahead of time, just in case, and he was always in Geoff’s office to discuss plans before Geoff even got there. Trevor liked things to be tight. He’d rather kill a target straight away rather than toy with them; unlike the other Fakes, who need some kind of release and being sadistic seem to work.

He slowly loosened those restraints as he picked up things from the Fakes; little habits they had that went mostly unnoticed. He found that it was more fun to draw things out, fuck with a victim a little before their doom. 

Sadly, one of those restraints he let go was his perfectionism, in a sense.

The Fakes first noticed a pattern starting about six months into his appointment as the new leader. They were robbing a jewelry store; Geoff realized his and Jack’s anniversary was approaching and although she said no gifts, he couldn’t help himself. It wouldn’t be a surprise but she could get anything she wanted. 

It was almost time for the heist to begin and Trevor was nowhere to be found. They were a few members down; Ryan and Gavin were negotiating with another crew for territory, so they needed the extra pair of hands. 

Jeremy was furiously texting and calling Trevor’s phone only to be left on voicemail and a petty read. 

Geoff was grumbling as they waited in Jack’s car, something about the respect in this crew and how he should whip them into shape, literally. 

Ten minutes later, there was a sharp series of knocks on the drivers window. Trevor was standing there, black sunglasses with the price tag still hanging off and an iced coffee in hand, the ice cubes almost completely melted. 

Jack rolled down her window. “What the absolute fuck, Trevor.” Total and utter exhaustion was distinct in her voice, with a pinch of tired annoyance. “Where the hell have you been?”

Trevor took a long, exaggerated sip from his drink “Uh, I reckon that’s pretty obvious,” he said calmly. 

Jack pinched her brow and sighed deeply. Mentally, she was trying to find the words to chew him out but the lack of surprise took away from the anger. So instead she threw up her hands in defeat. “Fuck it, then. Let’s fucking go.” 

Trevor stood back to let Jack jump out of the car, Geoff, Jeremy, and Michael followed suit. Michael was trying to stifle his laughter as Trevor took another thirty seconds to walk a few meters to throw out his coffee into a dumpster. 

When he joined the crew again, Jack gestured towards the store they were across the street from. 

“Ready?” she asked. 

Trevor fixed his sunglasses, and nodded. 

The Lads and Trevor were beaming in amusement as the crew made their way towards the jewellery store, Geoff was regretting every choice that lead him to that point while Jack was planning her retirement. 

The heist went as well as the majority of their heists; barely escaping and leaving a trail of fire and explosions behind them. They quickly made it back to the car, Jack was quite content in the passenger's seat. A simple, shining set of gold and silver bracelets dangled together as she reached over and wiped away some ash from Geoff’s face. 

The couple gazed lovingly at each other, only for a few moments but long enough to discomfort the trio in the backseat. 

“Can we go now? The cops are gonna be on us soon,” noted Trevor, looking anywhere except in front of him. His new sunglasses were sitting askew on his face, if he noticed he didn’t bother to fix them. 

Jack broke the stare to snap back at Trev. “You don’t get to say anything, not after that shit you pulled today.” She turned to Geoff again. “Let’s go, babe,” she said sweetly. 

Jeremy and Michael snickered on either side of Trevor, who was too afraid of Jack to say anything to shut them up. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfredo walked calmly down the passageway, the two guards either side of him were starting to blend into the shadows and he couldn’t tell if it was real or just the dark lighting. The fact he would have believed the former was telling to how he’d been in the city for too long. 

Five years ago, Alfredo would have pictured himself dead in a ditch if you asked him; but here he is now. He was entering the business of one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the city. An offer was sent out to Fredo, it wasn’t stated but he knew what would happen if he deemed himself too good to show up. 

So there he was, walking into a meeting he didn’t know what about and his best gun was in the hands of some brute next to him, it was mentioned in the request that he should bring it.. Not exactly how he pictured his Thursday morning but better than doing nothing, he supposed. 

The hallway was quickly ending, and a simple white door was waiting at the end. Stood before it was another two guards, their suits were the same as the ones beside Alfredo; but these ones were obvious. They didn’t blend in, didn’t disappear, these ones were meant to be seen, to put fear in him. 

The one to the left only moved his arm to reach over and open the door. The guards beside him kept moving, slightly pushing Alfredo forward when he hesitated for a moment, with his own gun too. The fact that he knew nothing about this meeting unsettled him, it wasn’t how he usually handled business deals. 

The room they entered was extended, it was clearly designed for office meetings. There was a wall of windows overlooking the streets but they were covered by velvet curtains. There were a series of chandeliers hanging over a long, maple table; a man sat at the very other end, hands clasped together and a suit similar to the ones his guards wore. 

“Good morning, Mr Diaz.” His voice was smooth, but it boomed throughout the room. “Take a seat.” The man gestured to the seat directly to his right. 

Alfredo held his best poker face as he walked, unguarded, to the other side of the room. He pulled out a chair and slowly sat down. He kept the guards in his peripheral visions but made eye contact with the man next to him.

“My name is Caden Sparks. You must be wondering why I called you here today. I have a proposition for you that I hope you’d be interested in.” 

Alfredo remained silent, allowing the man, Sparks, to explain further. Sparks stood up, he paced to the large curtains and pulled one open. The bright sun was sharp in Fredo’s eyes, but after he adjusted to the light he could see Sparks standing, almost watching the city with curiosity. 

“I assume by now you’ve heard of the Fake AH Crew,” Sparks continued, still not facing him.. “Over the years that crew has grown more powerful, faster than anyone I’ve seen before. I’ve encountered them more times than I’d want but every time, they’ve proven that they’re nothing more than a bunch of arrogant children who are drunk on their power. It’s no secret that the famous Kingpin was the one who built the crew up from nothing, he’s always been in control, of his crew and the city. But something no one realized, is over the years Ramsey has given up the reins. He’s old, too old to be holding so much power. There was a change in the Fakes’ operations, a subtle change but a definite one. Not just once, though. The title of boss was passed over again. At first, I had no idea how to find this new, mysterious leader. But after searching for months, I found him.”

Sparks stopped, leaving the room in a tense silence. Alfredo processed what he was just told and realized what his job was going to be. 

“And you want me to kill him,” Alfredo said. 

“Exactly. Y’know, you’re just as smart as they say you are.” Sparks turned around again to face Alfredo, he was grinning. “Now Mr Diaz, I hope you understand how important this is. A simple bullet, that I will supply, will alter the course of this city and it’ll all be because of you.”

“What if I refuse?” Alfredo raised. It was a half-assed threat that he wasn’t stupid enough to mean but needed to know the risks of this job. 

Sparks ignored his comment, he slowly paced towards Alfredo. His hand slipping into his pants pocket, Fredo’s body tensing as he prepared to run. Instead of pulling out a gun, it was a small item that flashed in the sunlight. Sparks leaned onto the table next to Alfredo. 

“This bullet.” He held the small metal object between two fingers up to Alfredo’s face. “That gun.” He pointed to the guard holding Alfredo’s sniper rifle. “You’ve got a week and if you miss, if you fail for any reason, I’ll cut off your limbs and throw you off the pier.”

Alfredo took the bullet from Sparks’ hand. “Good thing I’m the best shot in town.” He smiled back at him, the threat meaning nothing to him, nothing could scare him. “Do I at least get a name for this guy? Or will you set it up for me?”

“Trying to make me do your dirty work, Diaz? I appreciate the snark,” Sparks said. “You’ll track him yourself, though. His name’s Trevor Collins. Make a display out of his body, I want everyone to see it.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The penthouse was often filled with a bunch of lazy bodies, laying around together without directly interacting. When there wasn’t a heist being planned and there was no other crew to talk with, most of the Fakes spent their time either working out some repressed anger or being normal adult men; playing video games. 

Gavin had gone on a spree after he and Ryan came back from their negotiation and the crew was only just getting around to the pile stack next to the flat screen in the lounge. The Lads plus Jack and Ryan each sat around the TV, yelling at each other and laughing. 

Trevor and Geoff had managed to discreetly slip away as the others were preoccupied. Geoff made sure to lock his office door behind them; they had been holed up in there for days, keeping any stray eyes away. Even after Trevor took over control, Geoff kept it his space. Trevor claimed he did better work surrounded by chaos rather than blocked away from it. 

Geoff sat behind the desk, Trevor had taken to pacing back and forth. Geoff tsked, shaking his head at the boy. 

“Sit down, dumbass. Let’s figure this out,” he said. 

Trevor sat down quickly, still feeling like it was a demand despite his own position of power. He leant his arms on his knees, his hands fiddling together as his brain pieced together the information they had received. 

“We needed that land, Geoff. We’ve already promised the Vultures downtown that they can use it for their operations.” Trevor sped through what he’d already said a hundred times. “Tell me again exactly what Ryan said happened.”

Geoff sighed. “The negotiation went perfectly, Gavin was his usual amazing self; we got everything we wanted and a little more. But two days ago they contacted Gavin and called the whole thing off. They didn’t give a reason,” he explained. He stayed quiet to let Trevor think things through. 

“Are you sure there’s no one else that can get use those weapons?” Trevor asked. 

Geoff nodded. “You know there isn’t”

“Without that land, the Vultures aren’t going to give us their supplies and there goes a couple dozen deals and close to a million bucks.” Trevor covered his face with his hands and groaned into them. 

“Bet you’re regretting taking over now, huh?”

Trevor ignored Geoff’s joke, a resemblance of a plan had popped into his head. “Okay, set up another meeting. Gavin takes Michael and Jeremy, I want them apart of the talk. I want them manic and intense, whatever they can to make Gav seem like the sane one. No one leaves the room until we get what we want, Ryan and Jack will go as backup to make sure of that. You and I will go to the Vultures. As far as they’re aware, we’re moving ahead with the deal and pray Gavin gets it before we have to fight for it.”

Geoff stood up, Trev following suit, and nodded in approval. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“Alright, I’ll let the children and Jack know the plans.”

Geoff left the office, Trevor stayed behind to peer out the windows. The city was blinding, the noise was thankfully dulled by the time it reached him that high. 

Finally, with a plan in motion, the last few days caught up on him and the sudden withdrawal hit him. He hadn’t gotten the chance to leave the penthouse, meaning it had been too long since he’d had a proper coffee; not one made hours ago and left in the percolator on the kitchen bench.

Trevor checked his reflection in the window, and noticed the bags already starting to form under his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair and headed out. He past through the lounge, assuming everyone had been filled in and continued for the front door. 

“Treyco, where you going? We’ve got shit to do,” Gavin called from the lounge floor. 

Trevor was steadily losing steam and couldn’t find the energy to turn around as he responded. “I’m heading out, I need s’more caffeine.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was too easy to find him, Alfredo was looking for more of a challenge from this guy. But after finding a picture of him and running to through the city’s street cameras, Alfredo found his target visiting the same run down hole-in-the-wall cafe multiple times a day, the record was fifteen if he counted the late night runs. 

Alfredo surveyed the area, and found an abandoned apartment block just down the street. A third story room offered the best position, so he took up shack there. It had taken only three days for Alfredo to be ready to complete the job, but then his target disappeared. 

When Alfredo was first observing the store, he caught a glimpse of the target trailing closer and he considered doing it right there but decided against it. Too many witnesses to deal with. So Alfredo watched him leave, and now he was regretting that choice. He watched for another three days, silent and still, for the target to come and he never did. 

His pattern changed suddenly but it was the only place Alfredo knew he should be. There was no other place in the city that Alfredo could find that the target frequented. So he waited there, eyes watching but his mind racing. 

He’d been so sure this would go off without a hitch, he thought by now he’d have enough money to settle down somewhere outside of the city. But now he was planning his escape. If he failed, he was dead; and he’d worked too hard to get where he was just to end up as a body washing ashore. 

Alfredo was too good to end up like that. 

He trusted his gut and waited. He stayed in the apartment, never letting the small cafe out of his sight. 

After hours of waiting, he was rewarded. 

He instantly recognised the puff of black hair bouncing towards the store, he jumped into position. 

The target was tall and lanky, there wasn’t much too him and Alfredo was wondering if it would’ve been easier to just punch the kid a few times instead of wasting a bullet. Although, the target didn’t seem like much of a threat, he was a Fake. That made him more dangerous than Alfredo would ever know, and he was expensive. Fredo could last off this paycheck for years. 

So Alfredo lined up the shot. Through the scope he watched the target take a coffee cup from someone within the stall. Such a mundane place to die in. The target was still as he watched the traffic and drank his coffee.

Alfredo breathed in, he finger gently resting on the trigger. Everything was just right. He held his breath and squeezed.


	2. Chapter 2

  
**Let’s kill tonight**

Los Santos is home to numerous odd events, there were even rumors of high ranking people using magic to get their way. Alfredo never believed any of that bullshit, it was idiotic to listen to children stories but he was starting to think there was some truth to them.

Within the small fraction of time it took for Alfredo’s gun to spit out a bullet, something shifted in the wind, the city’s energy changed.

And then those dark brown eyes below gleamed up at him.

No amount of training could’ve prepared Alfredo for that moment, when his target merely stepped to the side; just out of reach of the bullet’s path. His target looked to where the bullet hit, a mark in the concrete showcasing Alfredo’s failure. Despite the chaos that erupted on the street after the gunshot, the target remained perfectly calm in the middle of the screaming public. He looked to Alfredo again, raised his coffee cup in a toast and then a string of trucks obscured him from view.

Traffic cleared and Trevor Collins had disappeared.

Dumbstruck, Alfredo couldn’t move for a moment. He could only stare at the very place his target was standing a few seconds ago.

_How the fuck did he miss?_

Reality slapped him in the face, his fate suddenly loomed over him. Sparks wasn’t bluffing, and Alfredo had run out of time. Dismantling his rifle and placing the pieces inside a duffel bag, Alfredo was already planning his escape. His home would be compromised by now, he wouldn’t risk it for a few supplies. He had his sniper rifle, a pistol and maybe a twenty in his jacket; banks were robbed far too often to trust them in this city. His motorbike was parked a block away, if he could get there in time, he could be out of the city in thirty minutes.

Alfredo should’ve chosen a more subtle approach, weaving between cars and running red lights on a barely street legal bike made him stick out within the old family cars and law abiding citizens. But Alfredo wasn’t in the right mindset to make good decisions, he was a bit preoccupied with the fact that _Trevor Collins just dodged a bullet and Alfredo was going to die because of it._

He had reached the outskirts of LS, he was driving through a clearly poor neighbourhood and the edge of city was nearing. He was almost out and from there, he could start a new life; one where he didn’t try to assassinate crew leaders that are apparently magical.

Alfredo almost relaxed. Key word being almost.

He was nearly out of the neighbourhood and the evening sun was starting to blind him, when a black Ford Ranger pulled out of a side street too fast for Alfredo to react. It caught his back tire, sending him skidding out of control and crashing onto the hard pavement. His left leg was trapped under the weight of his bike.

He squirmed to reach his bag that landed underneath him, frantically trying to pull out his pistol; but before he could there was a loud bang and a rush of pain shot through his side. Alfredo doesn't remember screaming but was sure he must have, the familiar pain was still horrible. 

Caden Sparks stood over him, flanked by his men who all had guns pointed at him.

“You had one job,” Sparks said. “And to think, you’re supposed to be the best.” He tsked mockingly. “Well, guess I gotta find someone new but first, I have some loose ends to take care off.”

Sparks moved so he was looking straight down at Alfredo, he smiled as the younger man still struggled under the motorbike despite the burning wound that was bleeding. Alfredo had looked down a muzzle dozens of times, but only then did he feel any fear. He always had an escape, a plan b, but there was nothing he could do.

Alfredo refused to close his eyes, he’d face his death with confidence.

He heard a shot. And then two more, and then a gun fight broke out. Sparks swore, ditching Alfredo without hesitating and running for his car. Alfredo strained to lift his head up enough to see what was happening, and what he saw, he first blamed on the blood lose.

His former target, Trevor Collins, had arrived and had half his body stuck out his car window, firing at Sparks and his men. The lackey’s didn’t last long against Trevor, falling one after another; but one was lucky enough to pop Trevor’s car tire. They brought Sparks enough time to run though.

Trevor didn’t seem to care much, he was out of his car and by Alfredo’s side in a few seconds. He freed Alfredo’s leg with only a grunt, getting the bike upright before kneeling down to Alfredo.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Trevor joked. His hands hovered around Alfredo as he sat himself up, grimacing at the stinging wound. “Okay, look, we need to get out of here.”

Trevor stood, offering his hand down to Alfredo. He ignored it, breathing heavily by the time he stood up.

“My car’s busted, we should take your bike.” Trevor didn’t leave room for argument, he hopped onto Alfredo’s motorbike and waited for him to lower himself behind Trevor.

Alfredo pressed onto his side, his hand was already soaked in blood while the other instinctively gripped onto Trevor’s side as the bike kicked to life. Alfredo didn’t have the energy to question the situation, this was his best option at the moment. Trevor drove with more mastery than Alfredo had, they zipped back through the streets heading for the main city center.

Wherever Trevor was taking them, he had to make a quick deviation as a congregation of cars across the set of traffic lights was being unquestionably lead by Sparks. The cars sped up when the pair came into view, it seemed that Sparks had gotten some more backup.

Trevor made a right. He pulled at the throttle, the bike roaring down the Los Santos streets. The cars were closing in, out the side windows guns were fired. Trevor started zig zagging, keeping perfect control as they leant from side to side.

Alfredo leant forward, whispering in Trevor’s ear, “Go faster.”

His voice was weak, blood leaked between his fingers. At this rate, Alfredo would die before Sparks had another opportunity. Trevor nodded, taking one look behind him before pulling down a narrow street. He barely dodged a truck coming for them.

Trevor swerved around a tight corner, Alfredo could feel the loose part of his jacket lightly skim across the tar road and paid no attention to the urge telling him to hold on tighter. He looked back from where they came from and couldn’t see Sparks, they had managed to get some distance between them.

Trevor never straightened up the bike, instead he kept turning into the entrance for an underground parking lot for an apartment building. He whipped down the ramp, passing a car that had opened the gate originally and pulled into a park that was on the other side.

After putting down the kickstand, Trevor hopped off the bike. “You’re still bleeding. We won’t make it any further until we fix that.”

“Okay.” Alfredo moved from the bike to sitting on the concrete ground, only groaning a bit at the strain. He breathed for a second, beginning to take off his jacket but was interrupted by Trevor almost ripping it off.

“What are you doing,” Alfredo moaned, trying to squirm away from Trevor’s touch. “Why are you doing this?”

Trevor ignored Alfredo’s attempts to move away and simply moved closer, pulling up his wet shirt and blinking at the wound before taking Alfredo’s own jacket to hold over the injury. Without looking at Alfredo, Trevor said, “You were in trouble and you needed help.”

Alfredo flinched as Trevor pressed harder to stop the bleeding, but he didn’t try fight. He was still hesitant but something told him that Trevor wasn’t going to hurt him, despite the reasons he should. They sat there in silence for a minute, Alfredo’s heartbeat pounding in his ears and Trevor making no effort to show what he was thinking.

“So,” Trevor finally said, “who hired you to kill me.”

“Caden Sparks.”

Trevor froze, his grip on Alfredo’s side loosened before he let out a deep sigh. “So that’s what he looks like. You fucking idiot. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Alfredo just shook his head, but Trevor didn’t give another response. He lifts up the jacket to check the wound, deeming it good enough and stood up; offering Alfredo a hand, who this time took it, and lifted him up from the ground. Alfredo stayed quiet, waiting rather than asking for an answer; unsure whether it was his place to demand information. After all, the man he just tried to kill is now helping him.

“We shouldn’t stay here anymore,” Trevor said.

Trevor sat up front while Alfredo hesitantly and slowly climbed on behind him; his fingers gripping Trevor’s shirt rather than his sides.

Alfredo noticed Trevor’s ease as he drove, the latter taking each corner without thought. The clear muscle memory was reminiscent of Alfredo and his weapons. He could take them apart over and over without ever needing to think, he’s had a full length conversation without his fingers ever stalling.

Trevor took them to a street up town that Alfredo had never been, the streets were clean and there wasn’t a reek of death and misery. The shops and buildings faded into grand houses, larger than any one person needs but rather plays into their wants.

The sun had almost finished setting when Trevor pulled into a driveway, the garage door opening on demand of a remote he kept on his person. He stopped the bike next to a black car, got off and waited for Alfredo to follow before entering a door on the side of the garage.

They entered into a kitchen, past it was the lounge. It was barren for such a grand house, only a couch and small armchair were seated around a long table. A TV hung on the wall and under it was a bookcase laid on its side, it was more full than the whole room.

“Sit down,” Trevor said before disappearing down a hallway.

Trevor came back with a rusty tool box in hand but after he placed it on the coffee table and opened it, Alfredo realised it was a low-budget first aid kit.

“I don’t have much in here,” Trevor said, referring to the kit. “I haven’t used this shit for a while.”

Alfredo sat wordlessly as Trevor searched through the box, pulling out medical tongs.

“Bullet’s still in ya.” Trevor shrugged. “I can get a rag if you’re gonna scream.”

Alfredo ripped the tongs from his hand, shaking his head furiously. “No. I’ll do it. I need to clean these, got any vodka?”

Trevor disappeared for another minute, returning with a half empty bottle in hand and a towel. “This is the most I got,” he said.

Alfredo took the two items from Trevor, opening the bottle and taking a swing then pouring it over the towel and cleaning the tongs; then tenderly cleaning the wound.

Trevor sat at the edge of the table as he watched Alfredo breath slowly when the tongs entered his body. It was only in him for a moment before he located the bullet and pulled it out, dropping it next to Trevor.

“Impressive,” Trevor commented.

Alfredo smirked, having another drink of the vodka and pretending that his hands didn’t tremble still. He pulled forward the tool box again and rummaged around for a needle and thread.

All the equipment was old, and needed a good clean. He calmed himself down, biting back the pain roaring from his side in order to begin stitching himself up. Trevor leant forward to take the needle from him but Alfredo drew back, shaking his head.

“Let me do it.”

Something akin to recognition flared in Trevor’s eyes but it was quickly dulled. Trevor muttered an apology, drawing back completely.

Alfredo stitched himself up, biting his lip in pain but never letting Trevor take over like the he so wanted to. They sat there in silence, Alfredo cleaning the wound again and covering it. His shirt was stained in blood but he refused to take one of Trevor’s.

“Get some sleep,” Trevor said, standing up from the table once he was sure Alfredo was okay. “You’re gonna need it.”

Trevor found some blankets and a pillow from a cupboard, pushed it to Alfredo and left him to sleep on the couch.

Alfredo sat on the armrest for what felt like hours, he was sure at any point Trevor or Sparks would come running in and kill him right there. He couldn’t fathom why Trevor would be doing this, and therefore the only reason is to kill him at a later time. Make it more fun.

But when Alfredo could hear Trevor’s snores from down the hallway and through an open doorway, a voice told him relax. A voice he hadn’t heard for years, the one that used to tell him to hang onto whatever small happiness and good that came into his life.

So Alfredo listened to it and settled into the couch, covering himself in the warm blanket. He let himself fall into a semi- peaceful sleep; at least for a few hours.

Until someone was shaking him awake.

Alfredo jumped up. Before his vision could fully focused on the figure in front of him, he fists went flying. The figure seamlessly dodged his sloppy punches and rather than fighting back, he grabbed onto Alfredo’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Trevor.”

Alfredo blinked. He only nodded when he realised it was in fact just Trevor, and offered up no explanation before asking, “What’s going on?”

Trevor let him go, stepping back with his hands in clear view; a silent gesture Alfredo couldn’t express how much he appreciated. “We should keep moving. I doubt that Sparks has given up on finding us, we gotta get some distance between us.”

Alfredo nodded again, Trevor returned the motion before leaving Alfredo in the lounge.

“Really got to get better at explaining shit man,” Alfredo muttered to himself.

Alfredo walked into the kitchen, rummaged through the cabinets before finding the only glass and filled it from the tap. He rested against the counter, enjoying each sip as he watched Trevor race back and forth.

Trevor walked between the garage and somewhere down the hallway. Each trip, he carried a bag or gun of different sorts. Eventually, Alfredo trailed after him during one walk to the garage to see what he was doing.

The trunk of the car was being filled with food, water and weapons; Trevor had very clearly prepared for hiding out for days.

Trevor made one last trip, slammed the trunk shut and gestured for Alfredo to enter the car. They left the house and surprising drove under the speed limit, obeying every road rule as not to draw attention to themselves. Although they both impatiently tapped their feet when they had to stop at a red light.

They had left the main suburbs of Los Santos, entering the outskirts.

“Where can we go?” Alfredo could disappear in Los Santos from most people but anything outside the city was unfamiliar. It would take too long to be comfortable enough with another layout to hide.

“We’ll figure it out.” Trevor wasn't trying to convince Alfredo.

“Seriously, why are you doing this? Why not just leave me behind, buy yourself some time?”

“Because Caden Sparks wants us both dead, and I’d rather not die alone.”

The radio became the only noise in the car, Trevor kept a firm grip on the steering wheel while he clearly checked the rear-view mirror every thirty seconds despite the lack of any sign of life. Alfredo hadn’t been this far out of town, having arrived by plane and never being able to find a way out. They passed a house that laid in the back of a field, it was worn down and broken but still, someone sat on its front steps; the smoke from a cigarette plumed and streaked towards the sky.

A sign was nearing them. It was large and like everything, falling apart. It wished safe travels, and gave a goodbye from the city. Almost as if the city ever cared about its inhabitants and would miss their presence staining her.

It certainly never cared about Alfredo.

And as he watched Trevor next to him, maybe it never cared about him either. He was still tense but about Sparks, not the messy city.

Trevor reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out his cellphone and without looking dialed a number. It rang for a while, going to voicemail. He sighed but left a message. “I’m going dark. Stay out of it. If I die, you’ll know. Carry on with the plan.” He hung up, muttering something about those idiots ruining everything.

Alfredo let the radio’s music block out his thoughts, nodding his head to the beat sometimes and ignoring Trevor’s smile when he hummed to a classic. Other than small instances like that, they didn’t communicate.

After a few hours, every Los Santos station faded out to static, they had truly escaped the city; but it left Alfredo to find new ones. He finally settled on one that was in English, and catered to his music taste; which strangely was pop music from the 2000’s and not the kind that was good even for that decade. Alfredo glared at Trevor when the latter laughed. Though, Trevor would admit that the songs got better.

The sun was heading for the horizon as Mr Brightside was blasted through the car, and after a day of no trouble, Trevor decided they could rest for a few hours. The universe and its powers gave him the perfect coincidence. As his eyes searched for a side street or any kind of building, his spotted the unmistakable rise of a roller coaster track.

The entrance to the theme park appeared from between a series of bushes and Trevor whipped the car into it, only slightly throwing Alfredo around. The road was slowly becoming more and more overgrown with plants and it slimmed into one way. Just before it widened again and the parking lot started, Trevor was forced to stop. A thick tree log laid across the entire road, it was rotting but still too large to move.

He pulled the car over to the side, slightly hiding in the forest. He looked over at Alfredo, who had his eyebrows raised.

“Why not have some fun with our last days.” Trevor left the car, Alfredo hesitated for a moment, cursed the other man but followed him to the back of the car.

Trevor popped open the trunk. Alfredo copied his moment to grab a small pistol, Trevor then taking a bag and shrugging it over his shoulder.

The theme park was in clear disarray; the concession stand had been crushed by a fallen tree, the railings leading towards the chair swing ride were rusted and devoid of their natural colour. As Alfredo and Trevor wandered deeper inside the park, more and more destroyed and broken the place became.

The spark of a window in the sunlight caught Trevor’s eye. Following it instantly, he realized a theatre had once been apart of the park. He didn’t check if Alfredo was following him as he jumped the velvet ropes blocking the entrance. Trevor walked past the broken food stalls, resisting the urge to try the packet of discontinued candy resting on the floor.

The walls were a light cream colour, but were covered in years worth of vulgar and creepy graffiti. Trevor kicked open a door below a large number ‘one’, if there was still power he assumed it would have been lit up. Inside the cinema the roof had fallen in, sunlight streaming in through the gaping hole.

Trevor was standing in the doorway, admiring the ruins when Alfredo shoved past him. Alfredo strolled down the stairs, one hand rising and falling on top the chairs. He reached the front of the cinema, the screen was gone but there was still a small stage just below where it should’ve have been.

The sun was beaming on Alfredo, who was curiously taking in every aspect of the place. In the moment, he seemed less like a homicidal assassin and more like Trevor before the misery of life took over him. It was that look that proved to Trevor he made the right choice, the look that reminded him so much of himself.

“The fuck you looking at?” Alfredo called.

Trevor blinked, being brought out of his thoughts. “Nothing,” he replied. “C’mon let’s check the rest of the place out.”

With no clear direction, Trevor and Alfredo explored the rest of the abandoned theme park. They passed a moss covered ferris wheel, the broken remains of a mini train forever stuck on it’s rails and one cart tipped over.

From the distance a sign appeared, as they neared it clearly stated ‘Haunted House’ and a childish excitement overtook them both; although Alfredo hid it better. He wasn’t far behind Trevor who was jogging towards it.

They left behind a setting sun, entering the large building. A wall to the right had been broken down, leading to a thin hallway clearly meant for the employees. Trevor entered first, and after a quick sweep he decided to settle down there for the night.

Using the wood of the building’s foundation, Trevor started working on a fire. For a reason Alfredo didn’t bother questioning, Trevor only had flint and steel rather than a lighter. Alfredo watched Trevor while he struck the flint repeatedly, the entire events of the day fully processing in his mind. Nothing that happened made sense to Alfredo, and he had to know.

“Why are you doing this?” Alfredo asked, breaking the silence.

“I already told you. You needed my help and I was in a generous mood.”

Alfredo sighed. “Whatever. Just tell me this, who is Caden Sparks? Why are you afraid of him?”

Trevor’s hands froze for a moment, a repeating pattern, before he shook his head and continued. Alfredo noticed the recurring instance of Trevor refusing to give more information, despite the latter being the one to involve Alfredo.

Finally Trevor answered. “Sparks is. . . a ghost. There’s nothing about him except for mutilated corpses. His enemies don’t make it far enough to spread any details about him. But I do know, he’s someone you don’t want to fuck with; and you fucked with him.”

“You do have a crew, remember, the fucking Fake AH Crew. Why are we doing this alone and not getting them to kill Sparks first?”

This time, Trevor’s silence was pained. It was something he’d clearly never spoke about, but somehow Alfredo had loosened his tongue.

“If I die, there will still be a crew left, someone to lead it left. Like Kingpin or even Ruby. But if I involve them, and one of them die, there’ll be nothing. They’ll fall apart. I’m not as important as the Golden Boy or Pattillo.” Trevor watched the fire that struggled to start, his eyes going somewhere further. “Either we handle this ourselves or we die.”

Another awkward silence overtook them. Alfredo didn’t bother voicing the questions that were swarming in his head, knowing that he would receive nothing, so instead he offered up his own piece of information. He justified it as building trust.

“Alfredo.”

“What?” Trevor looked at him.

“My name. It’s Alfredo Diaz. You never asked for it before.”

Trevor shrugged, and turned his attention back to the pile in front of him.“Figured you’d share when you’re ready,” he said.

The fire burst to life, it’s flames growing in heat and height. Trevor shuffled around so that his back leant against the same wall as Alfredo. As the night drew on the pair traded select and shallow stories about their pasts, nothing more than basic tales. They were just for conversation and a few laughs.

They fell asleep there together, a gun within reach but an odd atmosphere of relaxation let them sleep a little more soundly than they would have expected. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Life Of The Party**

When Alfredo woke up, for a moment he was back in his apartment. It was his bed underneath him and the cool breeze on his face was because he forgot to close his bedroom window. But then someone shifted next to him and his memory finally caught up.

The ground was hard on his back, and his arm had fallen asleep from when he used it as a pillow. The wind was from the open door leading into the Haunted House, which as let in the blinding morning sunlight when Alfredo managed to open his eyes. Trevor was already awake, and rummaging through his backpack. He noticed Alfredo, pulled out a protein bar and offered it silently. 

Alfredo groaned as he sat up, his body was no longer accustomed to sleeping so rough, and the wound on his side only ached more. He took the bar with his good arm, giving a small smile in return and flexing his other hand as feeling returned to it. The boys sat there, eating in a peaceful quiet and listened to the nature around them; it was so vastly different to the noises of Los Santos. Alfredo could’ve forgotten about Sparks in that moment, while he was content with just existing. 

It was such a big change in pace from his usual life. 

“We should keep moving,” Trevor stated, breaking Fredo’s serenity. He rolled his shoulders back, indicating his own pain, and ran a hand through his now messy black hair. 

Swallowing the last of his food, Alfredo asked, “Do you even have a plan?”

“Well,” Trevor started, “we managed to piss Sparks off pretty badly. I doubt he’s just gonna wait for us to go back to the city. We can draw him out here so he won’t have a lot of backup; get the drop on him, get rid of him, and get home.” 

“How do we find him?” 

Trevor smiled; it’s no wonder the Fakes cause so much destruction with him in charge. 

“We don’t,” he said. “Let him find us."

They said goodbye to the amusement park, passing the decrepit rides and wishing to have seen the place in its prime. Fortunately, the car was still there when they arrived. Trevor moved the weapons bag into the back seat,  _ just in case _ . 

While they drove, the radio turned from distorted music to static, and back to distorted music, indicating that they were close to another town or city. Alfredo realised how little he knew of LS’s surrounding area; it seemed the seclusion of the city blinded him to the rest of the world.  

Alfredo was uncomfortable with the plan. He would’ve questioned it, should’ve, but he didn’t have anything better so he sat in the passenger seat in silence. Trevor seemed smart, he certainly looked smart, so he had to know what he was doing. 

Trevor glanced from the road ahead to Alfredo, noticing the shift in mood. 

“Listen Alfredo, the plan is more than just waiting to run into Sparks. I’m just used to trying to lead the Fakes, unless it’s really important, they don’t listen well. And I usually just simplify everything,” Trevor explained. 

“So give me the full plan,” Alfredo said.  _ Thank god,  he  _ is  _ smart.  _

Trevor hesitated for a heartbeat. “Okay, well , so it is still kinda waiting for Sparks to find us, but we’re prepared for it. There’s a town up ahead and since we weren’t found last night, I bet that there’s  _ someone  _ there that works for Sparks. We draw the right attention and boom, we’ll get Sparks.”

Alfredo huffed. “That’s a little better.”  _ But not by much. _

The radio became clear. The opening to  _ Sugar, We’re Goin Down _ played, and the pair couldn’t help but scream-sing the lyrics, relishing in the feeling of a simpler time. By the end, they had made it to the next town. 

Alfredo hadn’t noticed its name but assumed that Trevor had visited before by the way he found the first café within a minute; that or he smelt caffeine like a hound. Alfredo decided to wait in the car while Trevor ordered drinks for them. 

His door closed and instantly Alfredo’s mind swarmed with every thought he struggled to hold back the last few days. His body was itching to run, to ditch Trevor and never look back; he had to save himself. It was always him before anyone else. Trusting this stranger, a man he was meant to kill, went against every instinct that had been etched into his brain and body. 

Alfredo knew that this was the stupidest thing he’d ever done. There were dozens of opportunities that he let pass by, and because of what? Some scrawny white kid with some self esteem issues? Alfredo should be smarter than that, he is smarter than that.

But as he watched said scrawny white kid hold the café door open for an elderly couple, Fredo couldn’t bring himself to betray that trust Trevor had placed in him. For whatever reason, Trevor thought Alfredo was worth something, that he was important enough to help; and something inside of Alfredo wanted to believe it too. 

He had been working alone for so long, but maybe he didn’t have to do that anymore. 

Alfredo’s thoughts were broken by his damned instincts demanding his attention be placed onto a man and woman entering the café. They were both wearing casual clothing but the way they carried themselves was what alerted him; like they were better, stronger than everyone else. 

They stood in line behind Trevor. He didn’t bother to show that he notice them, his gaze remained focused on the menu over above. Alfredo couldn’t share the same relaxed stance. One hand crept towards the door handle while the other gripped his pistol. He waited, ready to run inside but nothing happened. 

Trevor reached the counter, ordered their drinks and waited patiently. The pair behind him didn’t recognise him, or even his voice; they must be new. Or they were just regular people. 

Either way, Alfredo didn’t like them. So he watched. 

He watched as Trevor shuddered when the barista poured sugar and creamer into Alfredo’s cup, “ _ it’s an ungodly amount, Fredo” _ , then Alfredo shuddered when the barista poured straight black coffee into Trevor’s.

He watched the barista call Trevor’s name, and he saw the couple lift their heads and realisation hit them.

They’re definitely new. They wouldn’t have reacted so irrationally if they had experience. 

The woman threw the first punch, aiming for his head. Trevor dodged it, watching his dull reflection in the cafe wall. The man swung from the other side, making Trevor duck. He stood back up and slammed the man in the face with his elbow, sending him stumbling backwards. 

Alfredo was in the cafe within a few steps. Just in time to catch the man off guard, keeping him preoccupied as the woman tried fighting Trevor. 

Fredo tried keeping an eye on Trevor, but the man swinging his fists around took up most of his attention. The man got a few hits on Alfredo; but it only took a few swift movements for Alfredo to knock him off his feet. He gave the man a rough kick in the head to keep him down. 

He looked for Trevor and found him in a similar position, standing over his unconscious opponent and a slight smile. 

Trevor spun back to the poor barista who was cowering against the back wall. He fished a fifty from his pocket, saying, “Keep the change,” and took their coffees

Taking the cup, Alfredo said, “Is that the right attention?” 

Trevor shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Back in the car, Trevor and Alfredo took a calm approach to their cautiousness. They drove and drunk their coffees, glancing in the side mirrors every other second and keeping both a gun and knife within reach. 

The town they had entered, Granville Alfredo realised after seeing a couple stores, was lively; people were hurrying around, and traffic flowed at a steady but constant pace. It was nothing like Los Santos, or Alfredo’s home town, not that he remembered much about it. It felt. . . lighter there, there wasn’t this heavy pressure weighing on Alfredo anymore, it felt real. 

It  _ was _ real. There were kids playing in their yards, even in the poorer areas of the town. There were teenagers strolling through the streets, blissfully unaware of any potential danger. There were adults walking, hands free as they passed by strangers, not even bothering to protect their valuables.  

Trevor was real, too. 

He had risked everything because he wanted to help Alfredo. His left his crew, his home and threw away safety for some hitman that couldn’t make a shot. Despite his reputation, Trevor was still  _ good _ .

Alfredo only heard vague rumours of some tall demon, stalking the dark streets of Los Santos with the protection of the Fakes, even before he was deemed an official member and some said he was more terrifying than the Vagabond. As long as Alfredo never ran into him, he ignored that rumours. Carried on his life, believing he’d never find himself face to face with that demon. 

But the demon was far less scary than what he was lead to believe. He knew the words to practically every song, he pointed out dogs when they passed by, he thought he was unimportant, and he wanted to help people. 

“Fredo? You’re staring.” 

“Sorry,” he muttered, not realising his gaze had travelled onto Trevor and returned it back to the road. 

Alfredo and Trevor had left Granville, returning to the open road and its emptiness. They didn’t see another car, like the road was trying to lure them into a false sense of security. 

Trevor stiffened next to him, hands gripping the steering wheel as he look into the rear vision mirror. Alfredo checked his side mirror, behind them, and accelerating quickly, were two red pickup trucks and two black SUVs. They spread across both lanes in a line, their sights set on Alfredo and Trevor, no doubt they were Sparks’ men. 

“Alright so you got Sparks’ attention. What now?” Alfredo asked, reaching into the backseat for the first rifle he could grab. 

“You may not like this,” was the only warning Trevor gave before slamming on the brakes. 

The convey line behind them opened, letting the pair slip between them; but they were easily surrounded on all sides. Trevor put up no resistance as one of the SUVs aggressively guided them off the road and into a ditch. 

The landing was a bit rough, but there wasn’t a second to waste. 

“Trevor?” 

He ignored the worry in Alfredo’s tone. “Just shoot them before they shoot you, or me.”

Before Alfredo could even begin to protest, the window behind him was shot out, then his window and then the car was being riddled with bullets. Making a grab for extra ammo and crawling across the front seats, out of the drivers door, Alfredo crouched behind the car next to Trevor. 

Alfredo poked his up slightly, gaining a glimpse of what they were up against. 

“Okay, there’s two cars across the road,” he explained to Trevor. “The other two are closer to us, they’ll be used as shields. We won’t be able to push them back unless we clear the first line.”

Trevor nodded, barely blinking when a round of bullets hit the other side of the car. “There’s only twenty people max, probably less.” 

“I’ve had worse.”

“Same. Let’s do it then.” 

Alfredo felt an odd sense of comfort and familiarity as he lent over the hood of the car and Trevor stood by the trunk, each firing as quickly as they could. It was like they had fought together for years, trusted each other like brothers and could take on the world side by side. 

Between firing and dodging bullets, Alfredo found himself looking to Trevor; needing to be sure he was still okay and wondering if he felt the same. A bullet skimmed the edge of his ear and whispered as it passed,  _ don’t get attached, you know better than that. _

The first line of cars was cleared, Trevor and Alfredo moved as one unit behind the vehicles. They took the moment to pause. Trevor dumped an empty magazine, reaching into his back pocket for one with a full clip. Alfredo had already gone through his extra ammo, counting only three more bullets in his round. 

“There shouldn’t be much left.” Trevor looked around them. “We already got eight of them.”

Alfredo lifted his gun at Trevor, a flash of panic went over his face but quickly faded after Fredo pulled the trigger. 

“Nine,” Alfredo corrected, nodding towards the man trying to sneak up on them, now lying dead on the ground. 

Trevor’s smile was enough to refuel Alfredo’s energy, giving more reason to finish everything. 

The fight didn’t take much longer, Trevor and Alfredo equally taking out the remaining four. Trevor had left to check their car, they would have to leave soon and the other vehicles were too badly damaged to drive, thanks to them. Alfredo stood in the middle of the battle field. 

Their opponents’ weapons were high quality, all marked with a code; one he recognised from the bullet that Sparks had given him. 

Someone was looking to get famous. 

A series of grunts gained his attention. Across the way, it seems a man hadn’t wanted to die and despite the wound in his stomach, he was still fighting. He wielded a knife, Trevor managed to dodge most swings. Trevor grabbed onto the man’s arm, slamming it against the car and catching the knife as it dropped. 

The man finally died with a knife stuck in his throat. 

Alfredo was already running towards Trevor, even though he didn’t the help. Wait, no, Alfredo thought. Trevor didn’t help in the fight but he grimaced when he pressed his hand against his right shoulder. 

Somehow, when Alfredo wasn’t watching, the man had stabbed Trevor. 

Trevor brushed off any concern he had about himself when he met Alfredo. “You good?”

“Are you serious?” was all Alfredo could say. He gestured to Trevor’s wound, in complete disbelief someone could ignore it. 

Trevor shrugged, looking away when he winced. “Just a flesh wound.” 

Alfredo could’ve spent the whole day standing there, lecturing Trevor on his stupidity. How dare he care so much about Fredo, but completely disregard himself? If Alfredo had refused the help, Trevor would’ve dragged him onto that motorcycle, and tied him down to fix the injury. 

Yet, before Alfredo opened his mouth to yell, the hum of engines broke through the wildernesses peace. Cop or civilian, Alfredo didn’t want to be caught in the scene they stood in. He shouldn’t have wasted so much precious time. 

But it wasn’t the police, it wasn’t some poor random stranger, no, of course it had to be Sparks and a small army. There was too many, it was impossible to fight them all; maybe they’d get a quick death if they surrendered. 

Maybe Alfredo would get a second chance, if he finished his mission. 

He always listened to his instincts, they were meant to keep him alive and he’d always do what he had to; but that voice could go fuck itself. 

Never in a million years would Alfredo betray Trevor like that, he didn’t know why, didn’t care why; he just knew he hated that voice. 

Sparks sat passenger, tinted window rolling down as he neared the boys. 

“How’s that plan of your’s working out?” Alfredo snapped. He could still be angry without wanting to kill Trevor because despite everything, they were still caught, cornered after so much running. 

Trevor ignored the jab, or understood the defeat Fredo was feeling. 

“Follow my lead.” 

Alfredo had been following him for so long he couldn’t call Trevor a stranger, a random person, anymore. Those short days they spent together has made them so much more than people passing by. 

If Alfredo lived long enough, he’ll figure out the proper definition to what they were. 

Right then though, all his attention was on Sparks as he left the car, and strolled casually up to them. 

“Boys. It’s lovely to see you again.”

Spitting at him didn’t seem like the best option, with all the new backup Sparks had, even though Alfredo  _ really _ wanted to. He stayed silent, not trusting his tongue to be polite. 

“Can we get this over with, Caden? I’ve got places to be,” Trevor said, a small grin on his lips. 

“Sorry to say, Mr Collins, but I had other plans with you.” 

“Shit, I was hoping that would work.” 

Alfredo hoped this was apart of the plan, because in his experience, being a little shit never helped his case. 

Sparks smoothed his features, keeping any trace of annoyance clearly out of his face. But Trevor and Alfredo both saw the little signs. 

“Well,  _ my  _ plans involve you two coming with me,” he explained. “Or you can die out here, on an old forgotten road where your bodies will rot before anyone finds you.” 

Trevor looked around, weighing their options or pretending to. Alfredo realised this was the plan. 

Trevor raised his hands, and Alfredo followed slowly. 

The last thing he saw was Sparks’ smug grin before a bag went over his head, and he was pushed into a car trunk. He didn’t hear what happened to Trevor. 

The trunk slammed shut and Alfredo wondered, again, if Trevor was worth it. 


	4. Chapter 4

**This is just the prologue**

There are many kinds of fear, Trevor learned this the hard way.

The fear he felt sleeping on the streets for the first time was suffocating, freezing his body in place. The fear when he was far too young to be alone and a strange man followed him down a dark alleyway was empowering, pushing him to fight and leaving his mind no time to think, only act. And the fear of being kidnapped, left disoriented and alone made him cautious, sure to never repeat the same actions that landed him there.

But this kind of fear. . . this fear was reserved for completely powerless moments.

A kind of fear he hadn’t felt for years.

Until he met a hitman that was too trusting and somehow not trusting enough. Until he and Alfredo Diaz were separated from each other’s side for the first time in days, and left in the hands of a man that wanted them both dead. Trevor felt that pounding fear slither across his chest and tangle itself in his brain.

Trevor sat on the damp and cold ground, hands tied behind him and a blindfold placed over his eyes.

He was alone.

He didn’t know where Alfredo was.

And he was scared.

This wasn’t apart of his plan. Trevor didn’t predict this outcome. They were supposed to be together, captured yes, but able to fight together; but Sparks had put them in different cars with no way of knowing if the other followed. Alfredo might not even be alive, butchered as soon as they got Trevor.

It would’ve been his own arrogance that got Fredo killed.

Trevor sat there for roughly an hour, drowning in his guilt before he heard someone enter.

“Oh, how the mighty fall.”

Trevor could hear the smugness in Sparks’ tone, and practically snarled in response. Although he was blinded, Trevor wanted to test his luck against the man; but he was learning not to underestimate Sparks. Trevor needed to know where Alfredo was, if he was still alive; but couldn’t show the clear attachment.

“Just wait, Caden,” Trevor said, smoothing his emotions into a cocky attitude. “The Fakes don’t take it lightly when someone kidnaps one of their own.”

Despite his warning to the crew, Trevor still had hope that someone, anyone, had noticed something, heard even a small rumor that would alert them to his predicament.

Sparks chuckled. “Really? Well, last time I checked they were a bit preoccupied with the Vultures and haven’t even noticed your absence.”

 _So now they decide to listen to me_? Trevor couldn’t blame the crew though. The deal was more important than pretending the Fakes would even know where to start looking for him, more important than even bothering to find him. He understood completely. Probably would’ve yelled at them if they did drop everything.

“Oh, and before you try anything,” Sparks said, “Mr Diaz _will_ be the one to pay for it.”

Trevor never liked religion, couldn’t get behind it, but thanked every god he could name. At least Alfredo was alive, there wasn’t much Trevor could ask for.

While now he had reason to fight, something to push through the fear with, Trevor still couldn’t move. Not with Alfredo on the line. Trevor would never do anything to intentionally hurt him; although it was his dumb plan that put them in this situation. Trevor had spent too long trying to help him, he wouldn’t throw it all away. If they lived through this, Trevor would be sure to apologise for all the risks.

So he waited.

“Is that all you wanted, Caden? To gloat and make threats?” Trevor asked. He still couldn’t figure out Sparks’ plan.

If Trevor died, then the Fakes would be sent into a fury, a cold and calculated attack that would reduce Sparks and his crew into nothing but ashes. They wouldn’t unravel, wouldn’t turn into anything less than the sadistic, mad men and women they were known to be. Trevor trusted that much to be true; but he also trusted that he wasn’t the right person to target if complete chaos was wanted.

“No, Mr Collins,” Sparks said. “I want so much more. While your crew hasn’t noticed your capture yet, they will very quickly realise their mistake in leaving you alone.”

Sparks paced, walking in circles around Trevor; who despite the blindfold was always acutely aware of his position. Even as Trevor’s mind raced through all the information he had, he still wasn’t able to understand anything Sparks was doing.

Trevor was worth so much less than anyone else in the Fakes.

Sparks sighed, deeply and clearly annoyed. “You don’t get it, do you Mr Collins? You’re worth more than you think.”

_No, I know my worth and I’m perfectly okay with it._

Sparks left as suddenly as he entered, leaving Trevor to his thoughts again. He pushed away the voice that whispered just how worthless he was, everything he’d done that put him below human, with a promise to wallow in his self hatred later; and put his focus onto what was more important: Alfredo.

The fear that threatened to consume him had moulded into a burning rage, a fury that demanded revenge to quench it.

Trevor knew exactly who Alfredo was; he had been the same person only a few years ago. He understood the loneliness that comes with survival, knows the struggle of trusting and opening up after a lifetime of reason not to. And he knew where Alfredo was heading.

That is, if Trevor hadn’t stepped in.

The Fakes joined Trevor’s life too late, yet still when he was reparable. They couldn’t save him from every horror, but they found his broken pieces and held them while he slowly put himself back together; although one or two pieces may forever be missing, he was still more whole than before.

And Trevor knew it wouldn’t take Alfredo long before he was a shattered remain of who he once was. Even if Trevor didn’t fully believe that he would be the one to help Fredo, he would at least start the process.

 _That’s_ why he jumped in to save Alfredo from Sparks only a few days ago. A glint in the sniper’s eyes was enough to let Trevor know. From then, every action Alfredo made reminded Trevor of himself; drawing away to stitch his own wounds, keeping a clear exit in sight, but once that guard was dropped, they both became different people.

Trevor wouldn’t be himself if the Fakes hadn’t scooped him from the streets, and he wanted to do the same thing for Alfredo. Give him the idea of home, of a family, and let him choose to save himself. It wouldn’t have been fair to let Fredo rot in the Los Santos streets, everyone deserves to be redeemed, and Trevor would be damned if he took that away from Alfredo.

He didn’t have much time to brood.

Sparks only left ten minutes ago, but it had to be him that entered again. And when Trevor listened, he wasn’t alone.

There was someone scuffling against the ground, fighting and struggling against every step. Trevor let his head roll back and didn’t fight the smile when the person spoke.

“Get your fucking hands off me.” Alfredo fought against the men that half carried-half pushed him into the room with Trevor.

The blindfold was removed, and after adjusting to the sudden change of light, Trevor finally saw Alfredo again. He was relatively unhurt, just a couple bruises littered his face and a hardened glare. But his eyes softened the moment they landed on Trevor, his expression relaxing only for a second before he eyed Sparks.

“I thought I’d be generous, let you two see each other one last time before I kill you,” Sparks said.

Alfredo was thrown onto the ground just a few meters away from Trevor, who resisted the urge the move closer. They both kept their gaze forward, to Sparks instead of each other.

Sparks paced in front of them, rolling up his sleeves and grinning like he’d won the lottery. “You won’t believe how long I’ve wanted to do this. But know this, it ain’t gonna be pretty. I want to make a statement with you, Mr Collins,” he said. “Something no one will forget.”

Threats didn’t cause any fear in Trevor anymore, but what did was the panic that warped Alfredo’s face.

The first punch came without warning, Sparks’ fist connecting with Trevor’s nose with a familiar _crack_. He barely noticed the warm blood trickle onto his chin; Sparks struck again, and again, and again.

After one particularly hard punch, Trevor found himself staring at Alfredo as he attempted to regain his senses; but between the stinging pain and Fredo’s worried face, Trevor couldn’t think about anything else. Couldn’t figure out a plan to get them both out safe, couldn’t even think of anything to say to possibly stall Sparks.

He might have said that out loud, that or Alfredo read his mind; either way, Trevor realised he wasn’t alone.

Somewhere along the way he had forgotten that Alfredo was living a life similar to his, and that meant that the sniper was a much better fighter than any random civilian.

Alfredo charged Sparks, slamming his body into the side of his; sending them both tumbling to the ground.

A hand gun slipped from Sparks’ waistband as he collided with the floor. With Alfredo in a different kind of danger, Trevor worked fast. His hands slide from their binds, like he desperately wanted to do an hour ago. Trevor moved for the gun; barely registering what he’s doing as he shot the few lackeys standing guard.

He turned, looking for Sparks but froze just before pulling the trigger. His scuffle with Alfredo ended with a knife to the latter’s throat. They were only a few steps away.

Trevor almost smiled at the blood dripping from Sparks’ nose, like his own wound, and the blood that was wiped on Alfredo’s forehead. At least he had gotten a few solid hits in, Trevor felt his heart swell with pride.

Sparks wasn’t feeling the same joy, he pushed the edge of the knife deeper into Alfredo’s skin; not hard enough to break it but it served as a warning enough.

“Drop the gun, or he gets it,” Sparks hissed.

Sparks had wisely positioned his body almost directly behind Alfredo’s; who seemed unfazed by the ordeal. He kept his gaze on Trevor, _don’t do it, I’m not worth it_. He knew Trevor could hear his silent plea, but just hoped he’d actually listen to it.

Trevor’s heart beat just a little bit faster when he understood what Fredo wanted.

“What do you want, Caden?” Trevor asked, _c’mon think of something_. “Money? Power? Killing me, killing Alfredo won’t get you that.”

Trevor knew it was stupid to give Sparks time, knew that the longer he stayed, the less chance he’d have at getting out. But right then, he didn’t know what else to do.

He might be able to shoot Sparks, but the only open area was his head, and he’d end up deafening Alfredo if he even made it.

Sparks laughed. “Well, _he_ ,” Sparks pushed the knife deeper, “is going to die because he failed me. And like I said, _you_ are worth more than you think.”

Trevor had an idea. As subtle as he could, he made a few gestures and prayed that Alfredo could read him just as well. Fredo seemed to get the gist of it, his hand hung low as he counted using his fingers.

On three, Alfredo moved his body to the side, ignoring the knife nicking his neck.                                                                                                                                                                 
Trevor fired.

Sparks howled in pain as the bullet ripped through his shoulder, and howled again when Alfredo brought his head back against his already damaged nose.

Trevor fired, but the chamber was empty. He tried again, but nothing. He knew instantly that the single bullet would’ve been used on Alfredo, shot in front of Trevor before he was likely beaten to death.

Trevor and Alfredo ran.

They were sprinting out the door before Sparks had a moment to react. They were let out into a white hallway, it twisted at either end with no clear sign of where they went.

Trevor took a second to think, before choosing left and taking off at full speed once he knew Alfredo was following him. He expected to run into some guards, run into anyone else, but the compound was empty. The only sound was their feet slapping against the tiled ground, and Sparks yelling in anger.

The hallway twisted again, taking them right. There was no windows, no way of knowing where they were, only closed doors spread out.

They were at a disadvantage, Trevor knew it, Sparks would have more knowledge of the layout of the place with they were running blind. They needed to regroup, plan their attack.

So without warning Trevor slowed, Alfredo almost slamming into his back, and attempted to open one of the doors. The third one he tried was unlocked, and they quickly entered, shutting it gently behind them to not alert anyone who might be around. It was a small storage closet but was good enough for a breather.

“So. . .,” Trevor started but found that no words would come. It seemed that in the presence of Alfredo, Trevor’s poisoned dagger of a tongue refused to work.

Fortunately, Trevor didn’t have that effect on Alfredo.

“How bad is it?” Alfredo gestured to his face and shoulder, the stab wound would not go unacknowledged by him.

Trevor tried to smile, tried to play it off but Alfredo’s hardened stare killed any lie before he could speak them into existence.

He breathed in deeply. “Face hurts a shit ton, nose is broken but nothing that would slow us down. My shoulder is killing me though, running just made it worse.”

Trevor was rarely that honest that quickly. It was a shared trait in the Fake AH Crew to cover injuries, even though everyone else would yell at anyone who tried it; they’re all a bunch of hypocrites.

Alfredo nodded. “Yeah, okay. Look, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to just run away from this. We gotta end this.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

~

Trevor followed Alfredo through the building, keeping pace with a small jog; just slow enough so his shoulder didn’t burn too much but fast enough so they made progress.

The whole building was mostly empty, in the whole five minutes they crept around they only ran into two people; both alone and too easy to take down, even in their injured states. It seemed that Sparks was all bark and no bite. Alfredo and Trevor were both armed now, it didn’t take much to scare one of the guards into showing them the armory; because of course Sparks had a whole armory.

With plenty of ammo and an assortment of weapons between them, Alfredo and Trevor looked for Sparks.

But there was never a change in the building, never a new colour wall or door, never even a sign pointing somewhere; and it was hard to believe that they were going anywhere and not running up and down that same hallway.

Finally, there was something, an indication that they were in fact moving.

They approached a door slowly, Alfredo leading them towards the grey metal door that stood out against the white walls and doors. Fredo counted silently again, on three Trevor ripped open the door, while Alfredo looked for enemies.

It was a plane hangar that they entered, a big one. It turned out that Alfredo and Trevor were a level up; despite never seeing a staircase or elevator in the building. But they stood on a platform that circled around the walls of the hanger, a staircase to their right.

They ducked immediately, thankful for the boards covering the railing so that when they peered over top, only the tips of their heads would be seen.

Down below stood Sparks and a couple dozen men armed to the teeth. In small groups, the pair could easily take them down; but so many would be a challenge. It wouldn’t be enough to deter them, though.

No, it had to end right there, right then.

A silent agreement passed between Alfredo and Trevor, _whatever this was, it was fun_.

There was no need for a plan, no time for words; they went in guns blazing and hoped to see each other at the end of it. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Break down, hysteric and young**

Alfredo ducked, feeling bullets riddle the thin, yet sturdy sheet of metal he hid behind and collected his breath.

 _God, my life is so weird._ If his life wasn’t hanging so high in the air, he might’ve laughed at that thought; because of course his life is so weird. Every time he thought he’d found a new normal, something else came along and flipped his world.

Surprisingly, this time he liked that something else. He didn’t like what the something brought but the something itself was good, enjoyable.

The something was currently blindly firing as he took cover a couple steps away. Trevor let the gun go wild at the people below them. He winked when he noticed Alfredo staring, leaning back over the railing to actually aim at his would-be victims.

Standing there, rifle in hand and a vicious look as he picked off his targets with controlled yet lethal precision, Trevor looked exactly like the horror stories Alfredo had heard. The tall demon, menacing and imposing in nothing but an intent stare, with the notorious and brutal Fake AH Crew behind him.

But Alfredo had a reputation too, one that could challenge Trevor’s; he knew that his name was just as powerful.

Alfredo stood, a newfound wave of courage guided his legs towards the staircase leading into the pit of the hangar. His bullets moved faster, found their targets quicker, and dropped more bodies than Trevor’s.

Even as he walked, Alfredo kept firing; one half of him simply wanting to show off, and the other half knowing that the Fake will cover him.

There were no actual planes in the hangar, but an abundance of crates to cover him as he reached the bottom of the stairs; not doubt filled with weapons and drugs, the most popular contraband in Los Santos.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Trevor at the edge of the steps, and began to cover him as he made his way to Alfredo.

“I think we’re making a dent in their numbers. Can’t be much more than fifteen left.”

How Trevor had learned to be so aware of everything happening despite the circumstances would always confuse Alfredo, but he was at least thankful to have that skill on his side, to know that their attempts were working. If they didn’t die anytime soon, they would’ve done a decent job, given the factors.

“You reckon we got a chance at this?” Alfredo asked. Usually, he tried to ignore thinking too far ahead, and focused on surviving in that moment and continued until the future came. But with Trevor. . . it was different.

“I do.” It was nothing less than complete sincerity in Trevor’s voice.

That was motivation enough. In a break of gunfire, Alfredo rushed ahead, getting behind cover only a few feet away; but it meant that they were making ground, and Alfredo wanted everything to be over as quickly as possible.

Alfredo didn’t see Trevor much after that, the former choosing to push forward while the latter hung behind. As long as bullets were still coming from behind him, Alfredo wasn’t worried, much.

For the first time, he trusted someone to have his back.

Alfredo had to drop his gun, empty, and picked one from a body that was still warm, from a body whose eyes still had an ounce of life in them. He didn’t look at the body for long, shoving his attention onto the deafening gunfire, and how it had dulled; turning into a pitiful, slow copy of what it once was.

Only when Alfredo’s finger released the trigger for a moment did he realise that the hangar was silent. Trevor reached his side, giving him a wary glance before walking ahead, Fredo needing no prompt to follow closely behind.

They walked slowly, keeping a firm grip on their guns and watching every side; waiting for someone to jump out. But no one ever came.

They had almost reached the other side of the hangar, only a small pile of crates remained at that end. Alfredo whipped around it first, hesitating until Trevor saw the same thing.

Sparks was pressed against the wood, hands gripping his gun so tightly his knuckles were white. He made eye contact with each of the pair, his brain clearly whirling in panic. Trevor gestured with his own gun for Sparks to drop his, and once he did, Trevor motioned for him to stand. Sparks raised his hands as he stood, the gun far too out of reach now.

Sparks’ hands trembled in the air, his face drained of blood and his eyes flickered between the pair.

“Oh, how the mighty fall,” Trevor mocked, throwing Sparks’ words back at him  
“What? Not gonna beg for your life?” Alfredo asked, a new edge to his voice that slipped his control. He needed a level of restraint, but the last few days were catching up with him.

Despite his fear, Sparks spat at their feet. “Monsters like you can’t be reasoned with.”

He wanted to bait them, get under their skin and somehow take control of the situation. It was pathetic, really; a man that had seemed like he had more power than the two could imagine, now resorting to nothing but insults.

Alfredo and Trevor looked to each other, another unspoken agreement passed between them, and they knew exactly what the other was thinking.

The boys fired at the same time, two bullets meeting each other in Sparks’ brain.

-

Alfredo drove them home. Trevor had attempted to protest, but when he hand trembled as he tried to open the car door, he agreed to rest in the passenger seat.

As it turned out, although not surprisingly, both Alfredo and Trevor had been kidnapped numerous times and they each learned how to keep track of where they travelled, even when they couldn’t see. Where Alfredo forgot a turn, Trevor knew it, and when he couldn’t remember how many turns, Alfredo knew it.

“We make quite the pair, Mr Diaz.” Trevor chuckled, letting his head rest against the back of the seat. His eyes slipped closed for a moment.

“Hey Trevor?” Alfredo asked quietly.

“Hmm?” He made sure he was looking at Alfredo.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

Trevor let his eyes shut again, Alfredo thought he had fallen asleep until he said, “Yeah, me too Fredo, me too.”

They left a fiery explosion in their wake, destroying anything that might remain in that wretched building.

-  
It was morning when they got back to Los Santos, Trevor waking up in time to direct Alfredo to the penthouse. They parked right out front of one of the tallest apartment buildings in the city, though it wasn’t as flashy as Alfredo would’ve thought. Maybe they wanted to be a bit subtle.

The LS air was refreshing, it was different than the rest of the world, Alfredo realised. But it felt right.

Trevor breathed in deeply. “Home sweet home.”

The lobby to the complex was massive, the single room alone was bigger than Alfredo’s whole apartment. He let out a low wolf whistle.

“Just wait, Fredo,” Trevor said. “I know this is a lot but the penthouse is even cooler.”

It just hit Alfredo that Trevor Collins, leader of the Fake AH Crew, was now inviting him to where the crew operated. He knew dozens of people who would kill to have the same opportunity; people have killed for vague, yet wrong, information about the whereabouts of this place.

Alfredo didn’t belong there.

“I-I should leave.” He scrambled for an excuse. “You must be tired of me by now.”

Trevor cocked his head to the side, genuinely confused. “I’m always tired, Fredo, but never of you.”

Only because Trevor seemed like he wouldn’t move if Fredo left, did the latter walk across the large marble floor. Trevor joined in his pace without another word.

They had only made it a few steps when the elevator doors dinged opened. Trevor smiled when a tanned, blonde man appeared through them.

“Trevor?”

Judging by the accent and mountains of gold that adorned the man, Alfredo assumed that this was the famous Golden Boy. He seemed smaller in person.

“Jesus, what happened dude? Where’ve you been, are you okay? What the fuck hap - who’s that?”

Alfredo was never shy. But he was over his head, so far out of his own league that the didn’t know how he should respond. After all, possibly the most influential member of the Fakes was pointing at him accusingly and wanted answers. Fortunately, Trevor was there.

“He’s my boy Alfredo.” Trevor shrugged.

“ _Who_ is he?”

“A hitman.”

Golden Boy sighed. Maybe Trevor had brought home a stray before. “How’d you find him?”

“He tried to kill me?”

Somehow, there was no awkwardness between them when that fact was mentioned, it seemed so long ago and they were well past that. It seemed like the kind of thing they’d joke about later on. But Alfredo wouldn’t, couldn’t, stick around long enough; he should’ve left when they got back to Los Santos, but just couldn’t say goodbye.

“And you brought him _here_? How can you trust him, he’s an assassin,” Golden Boy said. “No offence.”

“How could you say that? Fredo’s the most precious, soft little soul.” Trevor pulled Alfredo forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Alfredo suddenly caught his reflection in the impeccable glass, and started cleaning the dirt and grime from his face. “Yeah, I’m adorable,” he agreed.

Golden Boy looked between the pair and shook his head. “Geoff’s gonna want to see you,” is all he said before continuing on his path out the building.

Trevor grinned at Fredo. “So that was Gavin. He can seem like a prick but deep down he’s still a prick that can occasionally be cool.”

The elevator ride to the penthouse was quiet, more comfortable than their past silences but tensions was rippling off Alfredo. He still didn’t feel like he belonged. There was ten floors left when he decided to speak up.

“Is this a good idea?” Before Trevor could reply, he added quickly, “I mean, I probably shouldn’t meet your crew, I’m just a nobody that tried to kill you.”

Five floors left.

“To be fair, everyone in the Fakes has tried to kill each other. They’ve all tried to kill me before.” Trevor laughed, like he was remembering a fun time between close friends.

Alfredo wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what they did for fun.

He just nodded, changing the subject quickly. “Is Kingpin’s real name Geoff?” Geoff didn’t strike the same level of fear, no wonder he went for such an edgy name.

“Yeah, he’ll want a full explanation for this fiasco of a week.”

The elevator doors opened.

“I thought _you_ were the boss,” Alfredo said.

Trevor shrugged. “Geoff stepped down from planning heists and the general day to day managing of the crew but when someone threatens us, that’s when he wants to be in charge.”

There was no number on the penthouse door, just a peephole in between the pale white wood; and another one almost a foot below the first one. Trevor didn’t acknowledge it, like every door had two peepholes, and pushed it open.

The first thing Alfredo saw was the large floor to ceiling window that let the bright sun stream into the open area. A lounge was situated in front of the window, and through the sunlight he could make out the back of three heads, they were more focused on the screen in front of them than the new arrivals.

Alfredo didn’t get a good look around, Trevor instantly taking a left down a hallway, and Fredo trusted the safety he had with Trevor more than being left behind.

The hallway twisted and they stopped outside the third door on the right, Trevor knocked twice and entered without waiting for an answer. Alfredo lingered by the door, letting Trevor take a seat before a grand, wooden desk. Thrown around the desktop were multiple picture frames Alfredo couldn’t see, and various toys and personal items. Not the desk of a notorious crew leader but more a regular old family man.

But the man behind the desk was to be taken seriously.

Kingpin sat in his pristine black tuxedo, hands clasped over the table and a deadly stare watching Alfredo’s every move. Trevor wasn’t fazed by the demeanour, knowing how soft Kingpin truly was.

“So,” Trevor said, “how’s your week been?”

Ramsey was committed to the tough act, he didn’t have to suppress a smile like Fredo. Alfredo was a stranger after all. But not to Trevor, and he was slightly offended his new friend was being treated like a threat.

“Debrief,” Ramsey demanded.

Trevor resisted a laugh, seeing Geoff this formal and serious was. . . weird to say the least.

“Well, we got chased by some new crew, found who that Caden Sparks guy is, sorry was, we kinda killed him and now we’re here.” Trevor looked behind him to Alfredo. “Am I missing anything?”

“I got shot. You got stabbed.”

Kingpin sighed into his hands. Why would they take it seriously? He should’ve known better.

“You,” Geoff pointed at Alfredo, “get out.”

Alfredo looked at Trevor.

“It’s okay,” Trevor said, nodding to him. “Wait for me outside. Don’t let the guys give you any shit.”

Without asking what he meant, Alfredo left. The door clicked shut behind him and he strained to listen through the wall but realised it was probably sound proof. He figured he wouldn’t want to hear Kingpin bash him, anyway; so instead of pacing the hallway like he was tempted to do, Alfredo decided to investigate the eerie atmosphere that had overtaken the apartment.

From the entrance of the hallway, Alfredo could see into the kitchen. In it, resting against the bench, coffee mug in hand and a glare stuck on her face, Pattillo watched him. She was both more and less terrifying so close. She was in sweatpants and a shirt double her size, yet they both knew she wouldn’t hesitate if she caught one foot out of place.

As Alfredo walked up the hallway and she grew closer, another figure entered the kitchen. He stood with his back to Alfredo but he clearly spoke to Pattillo as she chuckled, all without breaking eye contact with Alfredo.

The new man barely glanced back at Alfredo when he reached the kitchen but it was enough for Alfredo to see the infamous skull mask of the Vagabond.

He kept his head up high, ignoring every story of the mercenary that flooded his memory. When he noticed two more stares from the corner of his eye, he understood what Trevor meant.

“You’re not going to scare me,” Alfredo said, looking over into the lounge where two men were practically hanging over the back of a couch to look at him. He forced a grin on to his face, letting his fake confidence roll off of him.

Whether the Fakes bought it or not, he had no idea; but they at least pretended to.

One of the guys from the couch, Mogar; Alfredo realized from the sneer that was like concrete on his face, jumped over the piece of furniture and slandered up to him.

“So, whatever your name is, what’re you doing here?” Mogar asked. He whole demeanour screamed arrogance, like he was the brightest explosion.

“Trevor brought me with him. He didn’t tell me what he was thinking.” Alfredo made sure the exit was within his eyesight, if they tried anything he wasn’t going to take on the majority of the Fake AH Crew alone. He silently screamed at Trevor to _hurry the fuck up._

“That sounds like him.” Someone else from the couch he didn’t recognise joined Mogar. He was shorter but carried himself like he was stronger in every possible way.  _ The second peephole.  _ “What’s so special about you that made Trevor take such an interest in you?” 

“Leave him alone, Jeremy.” Trevor appeared from the hallway, taking a stance just in front of Alfredo. “You’re just afraid that I won’t give you any more attention because I found someone new.”

For such a physical guy, Alfredo was shocked when Jeremy’s only defence was to stick his tongue out at Trevor.

Kingpin entered the room as well, meeting Pattillo before taking her mug and downing the last of its contents. Trevor returned Jeremy’s gesture before looking over to Geoff, their private conversation still lingering in their eyes.

Trevor was the first to break the stare.

“Well it was lovely seeing you all, especially since I’m not dead; but Fredo and I should get going. It’s been a long week and all I want is to pass out for a solid day.”

Alfredo could still feel the Fakes’ eyes bearing into his skull as they left the penthouse.

“What did Kingpin say?” Alfredo asked after they had been waiting for the elevator for a minute.

Trevor sighed. “I’m going to get some people on chasing down what remains of Sparks’ crew. I’m not convinced that we managed to completely end him, neither is Geoff.” The elevator dinged, they stepped in. There was no cameras. “I told him that you wouldn’t be safe until we knew for sure everyone from the crew was dead, and you needed protection.”

“Really?” Alfredo scoffed. “What did he say to that.”

The doors open into the lobby. Trevor took a step out then turned back to look at Alfredo, a stupid grin spread across his face.

“That I’m welcome to do it myself. Guess we’re gonna be spending a lot more time together.”

“Great,” Alfredo muttered.

“Enough business talk,” Trevor said while they exited the building. “We deserve some down time and I don’t know about you but I’m starving. There’s a really nice diner just down the road if you’re up to it.”

Alfredo shrugged. “I’ve followed you this far. Why not keep going.”

They chose to walk, needing to stretch their legs after so long in a car and it gave them each a chance to clear their minds. But despite his best efforts, Alfredo couldn’t stop thinking about the last few days, and something that Trevor said was stuck in his head.

“Hey,” Fredo said, and after Trevor hummed in reply he continued, “do you really think that you’re not important to the Fakes?”

Trevor opened his mouth to speak but found nothing to say; why couldn’t he lie to Alfredo? “Well, yeah, I mean not as important as the others.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Alfredo scoffed. “They were literally trying to suss me out just a few minutes ago, see if I was good enough to even be in your presence.”

Trevor shook his head, waiting until they crossed the road before saying, “They were just messing with you. Didn’t mean anything.”

“And here I was thinking you were smart.”

“Funny, that’s the same thing Geoff said.”

Alfredo dropped the topic, knowing that he’d never be able to convince Trevor of his value in one conversation; but if he was going to be hanging around longer, Fredo wouldn’t stop trying. Trevor seemed to have a mission to save Alfredo, so it would be Alfredo’s mission to give that man at least some self esteem.

The diner was small and cozy. Their waitress, a middle aged black women, made the whole place feel like home; or at least what Alfredo imagined it to feel like. Their food and drinks arrived, Alfredo heavy judged Trevor while he sipped from his black coffee. Trevor just flipped him off, diving into the breakfast he ordered.

After five minutes of silent eating, Trevor suddenly made a series of muffled noises like he remembered something. After forcefully pushing whatever food was in his mouth he spoke.

“Oh and I asked Geoff if you could join the Fakes.”

Alfredo choked on his drink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo,,,,,, unless I get a really good idea for another part this is the last chapter....Thanks for reading it this far! I don't know what else I should say,,
> 
> (If anyone has any ideas, I'll happily listen cause idk what to do with my life now)
> 
> (And seriously thank you all so much. I loved writing this and love that so many people like it)


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